Temptation In Loathing
by OhItsTheresa
Summary: Ginny's been having nightmares. But do they count if they've started when she's wide awake? And what happens when nightmares turn to fantasies and fantasies become all too real?


_Alright! This is my first Ginny / Blaise pairing and my second story. A big thank you to the lovely **SinaFairchild** for beta reading and editing. Errr - Guess that's it! Enjoy!_

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><p>Blood pounded through her veins, rushed past her ears, and flowed straight to her face. The tips of her fingers pushed desperately into polished wood, smoothing down the handle even as her right arm raised, snapped back and immediately curled inward. Clenched tight to her chest a hefty ball rested, patiently waiting for its next owner to take charge. Wind lashed at her fact, pricking her cheeks and eyes even behind thick goggles. To her left someone buzzed, yelling something she couldn't hear past the whoosh of speed that rang in her ears. Lowering down so she was almost lying flat across her broom Ginny Weasley chanced a glance and swore. Fucking Merlin. It was him. It was <em>always<em> him.

Dropping down several feet in a hopeless attempt to avoid her pursuer the copper haired fifth year cursed violently under her breath. It wouldn't have mattered even if she had been screaming her profanities. At the speed she was hurdling through the air nothing was audible, not even the frantic cheers she instinctively knew were rising from the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw stands. Sure, the other two houses wanted to win the house cup themselves and the lions were their competitors. But no one wanted the Slytherins to stand victorious. No one. No matter the cost.

With a single thought Ginny slid sideways, momentarily slipping away from the dark skin wizard who taunted her nightmares. Or at least she called them nightmares. Unfortunately for her, there was nothing terrifying about the way he crawled toward her during the night. Against her will he had been an almost constant staple in her dream realm for the past too many days. Searing kisses and tantalizing touches plagued her sleeping thoughts and had, recently, began to creep into the conscious world.

Blushing crimson under already wind coloured cheeks Ginny was suddenly all too thankful for the ferocity at which playing Quidditch burned her skin. Not one person would be able to tell that she was going christmas coloured for any reason other than the game. Twisting around a bludger that came soaring her way she silently thanked whatever god there was, magical or otherwise, for hiding her shame. If anyone, anyone at all, found out about her fantasy midnight rendezvous she'd die of embarrassment. There was perhaps nothing more pathetic than a Gryffindor who pined over a Slytherin. Especially when one considered the reputation that this particular Slytherin held.

A tremble ran through Ginny's body, starting in her upper spine before zipping down her back and landing with a hazy tingle in her lower abdomen. For once she couldn't tell if it was a good or bad reaction. Had she shuddered at the thought of him touching her? Or had she shivered in anticipation?

Gripping the quaffle in her leather covered grip Ginny reared up her broom and hurled. Five. The Slytherin keeper zipped towards her, trying to catch the ball before it could leave her personal space bubble. Four. Blaise Zabini rammed her side sending her skidding through the air as her arm burned in pain and something she didn't want to think about from his touch. Three. Her eyes snapped forward, wildly darting around as they tried to spot the flying whirl that was her throw. Two. Slytherin's only female player reached forward in a haphazard attempt to block their goal. One. A shot of adrenaline charged through Ginny's system as the ball flew with surprising accuracy through the golden hoops.

Somewhere behind her a high pitched whistle screeched past the blinding noise of the crowd below. Stalling in midair the youngest Weasley turned instantly toward the sound. It was the only tone that could reach her during the heat of a game. They had been trained, as all Quidditch players were trained, to lock onto that melody. The three pips that signaled the victory.

Searching out Harry, Ginny's face burst into a face splitting grin as realization hit her. Glancing over her shoulder at Blaise she winked, mouth curling into a smug smirk.

"What were you saying, Zabini? Something about traitor blood causing our downfall?" She laugh, a harsh self-satisfied chuckle rolling from her tongue. "Guess you need to rethink your values. We blood traitors just kicked your unholy arse." Flipping him a rather crude hand gesture she flipped her hair and sped down to her teammates, joining the already bone crushing mob of ecstatic Gryffindors.

As Ginny let herself get swept up in the swell of chanting, laughing, cheering students she couldn't help but glance back. Zabini stood to one side of his team, leaning casually on his broomstick as if getting beaten wasn't a big deal in the slightest. For a guilty moment she let her eyes run up his legs, lingering over the smooth area she knew contained something she'd only ever dreamt about, before tracing up the outline of his robes and onto his face. Giving a startled yelp as his eyes caught her's, amusement bright and mocking shining in them, she jumped down from her position atop many a fan's hands and shook with annoyance. Damn him. Couldn't he even let her ogle in peace? No. No he couldn't. He had to ruin everything. Prick.

She knew she was being unreasonable and yet the uncontrolled fury that boiled under her skin wouldn't subside. Shaking her head as Harry motioned to see what was up Ginny maneuvered her way through the crowd swiftly. Upon reaching the outer layer she yanked off her gloves, vexation building, and headed toward the showers.

Nothing but a dose of cold then hot water would calm her frayed nerves or burning, itching skin. Something about the way he'd looked at her said something Ginny was all too scared to admit. Did he know? Had he found a way to sneak into her mind? Was it possible that he knew why she twisted and turned at night? Why she woke up with sweat covered sheets and a pressure in her womb that threatened to drive her mad?

Scrunching her nose up in self disgust Ginny stepped inside the Gryffindor locker rooms not bothering to lock the door behind her. Not one of her team mates would come in seeing as there was a party to be planned and attended. If they did however they'd hear the showers and steer clear just in case. After an awkward incident with Katie Bell and her brother Fred a few years previous it had been decided that showering meant absolutely no using of the rest rooms. Which happened to be unfortunately situated across an uncovered way from the open aired showers. Really, whoever had designed it was a complete and total pervert. Who else would put open toilets in the same room as open showers.

Moving towards her locker, her brows knitted together in a queer combination of irritation and confusion, Ginny peeled off layer by layer of Quidditch uniform. Onto the dark wood bench went her padding. Off came her relatively clean boots. Down onto the floor went her socks and goggles. She'd pick them up later, once the kinks in her neck were gone. Standing in the basic outfit, a pair of red trousers with golden stripes down the side and a matching blouse, the ginger rolled her head around on her neck. The silence of the changing room soothed her fraying nerves like a warm bath after a frigid night.

Slowly, to delay the coming celebration, Ginny reached down and pulled her shirt edges up and over her head. With unnecessary care she folded the soft material and laid it down. Next came her trousers. Pushing them off her hips she watched with vague curiosity as they glided down pale freckled legs. Stepping out of the fabric easily, Ginny leaned down to pick them up, once more setting the cloth in a tidy pile next to her carelessly placed pads. Standing in her unmentionables she allowed her hands to massage small circles into her shoulders, for a second not caring if someone were to walk in. What would it matter really? It wasn't like they hadn't seen it before, either in PlayWitch or real life.

Sighing heavily Ginny grabbed her toiletries out of her locker (which was never actually locked) and headed toward the white walled bathing room. Light slapping noises echoed off the walls as her feet padded across the cool floor, picking up speed as the chilly tiles seemed to freeze her skin. Once she reached the shower, Ginny slipped inside the last stall, thankful for the millionth time that the showers were at least partitioned off from each other, offering the last person at least a little privacy. True, there was no one there to spy on her but that didn't stop the overwhelming need to be just a little bit prudish when it came to her completely naked body. After all it was bright as day. Anyone who saw her would _see_ her. All of her. Not just blurry shadows and hints of what was. Oh no. They'd see every nook and cranny, ever flaw and blemish that dotted and marked her body. And Ginny, for one, was not in the mood to be self conscious. Mr. Zabini had already taken care of that.

"Shite."

Voice echoing across the room she rolled her eyes skyward and sighed. Even now she was thinking about him. And definitely not in the way she should have been considering they'd just wiped the floor with his despicable pureblood values. No, definitely not. Instead, as she reached over to turn the water on hot, she imagined his hands on her, moving over her, rubbing her, pinching her. Heat flared in her cheeks as Ginny's mind traveled south to exactly where she wanted Blaise Zabini's hands.

Groaning she let her head thunk against the wall as scalding water started to stream down in clear rivets turning already pink skin rosy. Why did she do this to herself? Why did she let him get into her head so easily? It wasn't as if he'd ever once been nice to her. It wasn't as if he'd ever once done anything that could even be remotely mistranslated as interest in her. Even less so in her body. In fact, from they glares and snide remarks the shared on the Quidditch pitch, Ginny was fairly positive he hated every fiber of her being. Much the way Malfoy and Harry seemed to hate each other. Or perhaps a better comparison was Hermione and Draco. There wasn't a person in the entire school who didn't know that they'd gladly hex each other to bits.

Tipping her head up into the jets, Ginny let herself feel the steam curling around her, the water licking down her face warming her tired muscles. One blissful second passed as her mind went totally and utterly blank. Serenity brushed her lightly before dashing off as the sound of footsteps entering the facilities started the fifth year out of her reserve. Ducking down in the stall so only her head peered over the top Ginny waited with bated breath for someone to find her. Please, she prayed, please don't let them find me. I just want to be alone. That's it. That's all!

That was to much too ask.


End file.
